taking control.
a timeline of hair loss:
monday: i tell nurse Karli, “i’m not going to fight hair loss, but i have a lot of hair and i think i’ll be able to wear it for a while without people noticing it’s falling out. plus it’s winter and cold, so i’m going to keep it as long as i can”. get wig prescription.
wednesday: i notice my scalp is sore from a ponytail and i suspect this is due to the impending hair loss.
friday: i tell Lea & Colleen i think it is starting.
saturday: it’s happening. yesterdays “could be normal amounts” today feel like clumps. i wasn’t planning to wash my hair, but i decide to and i could have showered in my tears because what felt like clumps with dry hair feels like i’m going to clog my drain in 4 seconds and if there is any hair left it will be a matted ball by the time i am done with shampoo. this of course is a dramatic overstatement but the amount of anxiety it gives me immediately is unbearable and that’s it, today is the day.
crying, i ask Audrey, “would you like to be there when i shave my head? i am losing a lot today and it is making me sad”. she says yes. i tell her it’s okay if it makes her sad and she can try too, but she doesn’t. we go to the trampoline park at her request and Ali comes and says “i have clippers”. a handful of times while we are out i can’t help but run my fingers through my hair and need to find a garbage to dispose of my shedding and i am certain the young girl, the old man, and the Wendy’s drive thru attendant who are around at these times look at me as though i am a monster. get rid of it.
Anna meets us at Ali’s and we laugh at Britney Spears circa 2007 meltdown memes, watch a scene from Empire Records, and get out the clippers, which are designed for pets. i google the blade chart and find one for dairy goats, hogs and horses. nope. i ask Ali for a spare shirt and she gives me one that says “damn it feels good to be a gangster”. yes, yes it does. i search spotify for a Shave Your Head playlist but all i find seems to be curated by white supremacists. more nope. a few selfies with each of my companions later and it’s go time.
everyone got a turn. Audrey, who has aspirations to own her own hair salon some day, did most of the cutting, leaving me quite the rat tail until Ali and Anna stepped in to craft a mullet before we switched from scissors to blade. and then, i tell cancer who’s boss.
the rest is history and the anxiety is gone. it was empowering and liberating. a buzzed head feels (like the actual, physical sensation) weird but a thousand percent better than a head full of hair that is falling out, or any amount of anxiety, or feeling a victim to cancer. at some point Audrey observed that the process wasn’t making me scared or sad and when it was over she told me i look the same but later told Ali, “i like her like that, she’s beautiful and i like it more than when she had hair”. and i think to myself…
strong women. may we know them, may we be them, and may we raise them. and then i cry happy tears.
